Dog Evil
by old copperhead
Summary: Idol hands are the Devil's workshop.


Dr Jones' office was always flooded with eager dames. Was there ever an archeologyist so rakish and debonair, who exuded such effortless mastery? Just one crooked grin from Indy, his eyes sparkling, nd the stench of the young ladies arousal would envelop the room.

Just now Indoiana Jones was three days back from the country Irawq, whereat he discovered a new portable idol to the ancient Sumerian pussy goddess Inanna. In some vulnerable corner of his thought, the bodacious bruiser wondered if any of the legends were true, that these relics warded off decrepitude and gave marvelous fortune. But trheese thoughts fell away quick, and Jones ruefully considfered how to get out of doing professorial work for a long while and return to Iraq.

Think no more. Intrepid Indiana's invitation into Iraqi imbroglio is involved in Ishtar, called INANNA, by the wise ages-old Babylionons. And for this, Indiana is briefed by Mark Brody; a good man, but dumber than a fucking tapeworm.

'The natives are loath to part with their relics, even if they are _shirk_, strictly speaking, abomination to the Oneness of Allah. Despite this, they surreptitiously prize them above all other national symbols: they love the Inanna ones most, do you undertstand? Do not expect them to part with their statues and such willingly. Be careful, old feriend.'

Indiana Jones just grinned, the one that quickened so many broads' was well aware of the horny business in the slums and parlors of Fallujah and Baghdad and Dubai, and the antics of his Gallic nemesis Rene Belloc. Even so, grabbing this paltry litle thing availed him nothing in true knowledge, and the fella knew it, for all his unshakeable confidence.

He made to leave, but Brody grabbed his arm in warning, and their gazes met. 'You didn't calculate for the victory,' said Markus Brody, and all at once the rift between them was made bare, yet rife with the promise of healing.

The plane ride to Baghdad was uneventful. Indiana Jones wore his satchel and his fedora, and his weathered leather jacket, as always, that beloved heirloom of his heroic ancestors. In this moment, he was as one of Heaven's messengers come down from the clouds to renew hope and resolve.

I can say nothing of his time in Baghdad, lacies and gentlemen, save that it was short but punctuated with violence. For he was waylaid by several of Belloc's goons; the balaclava-clad troublemakers menaced him with scimitars and steel rods, but Indy took them one by one and slew them, but Belloc was not among them, only in the memory and pulsing anticipation.

With Sallah's help, he crossed the desert some distance northwest, out Anbar-ways, which would come to be called the Cradle of ISIS in decades to come. Sallah himself suffered a stroke two days into the jurney to the Hoard of Ishtar (hidden in the bowels of Ashurnasirpal's Ziggurat) and he died a lingering death over the next few hours. Indiana rent his shirt and wept, thanked the Lord for his time with this brave man. The rest of the guides and guards abandoned them, refusing to so much as help Indy bury the man, save two only who stayed: a mysterious man in iridescent _keffiyeh _and robed in shimmering shadows, who was known as Dog Evil; and Yusuf al-Masri, who fled his homeland after strangling his son-in-law in a heated brawl.

Sallah was buried, packed into the sands as an offering, and the three pressed onward. Dog Evil spoke little; only to say that he knew this Ziggurat better than any living, and to confess that a wicked greed had long since claimed his soul. Indiana Jones consoled Yusuf and gave him worss of strenght and comfort when the latter faltered, despite his own grief.

Now, they made it into the Ziggurat, braved the hoary haunted halls of yore, as Cththonic cancerous commuters of catlike curiosity. And _there they were_, our three, with Dr Indiana Jones handsome and lean and trepidatious like Harry Styles in the "Night Changes" music video, Dog Evil gliding like a thing of shadows, and Mr Yusuf still maddened with regret.

They overcame traps and labyrinthine turns and spiders and mummy mujahideen, and at Mr Dog Evil's guidance they descended into the Darkness of Ishtar's Hoard. Surely they would have parished, but Dog Evil's knowledge saved them, and led them to the very bowels of the Ziggurat: the Altar of Inanna, where the cunt sorcery was worked millenia ago and Belial himself coupled with the goddess during inane rituals.

Behold! rene belloc stood at the Apex of the Altar, carving knife inscribed with hieroglyphs in one hand, a fistful of Marion Ravenwood's glorious fuligin mane in the other. Marion herself was tied up and cleave-gagged tighter than Kate Hudson in "The Skeleton Key." She whimpered and implored Indy, her muffled worss

'Just in time, habibi,' called Belloc from on high, his Phimosis deformed cock tenting his trousers underenath the lavender robe. The crazed Frenchman cut the young woman's throat and cast it blood into the bowl, summoning Inanna...she now walked among them! The pussied goddess shrieked like a raped dingo, and all at once Yusuf realised he had not fled Judgment them years ago, he only deferred it. Inanna seized him in a blur and snapped his neck, dropped him in a twitching dying heap to the stone. Indiana, though possessd with rage, could not stand against her either, but this hour was Dog Evil's. He tossed aside his robes and raiment, revealed hismslerf as Ashurnasirpal's Ghost, who rebuked Inanna, and condemned her for her antique obscenities, and rearing mountainous over Them All the shade swept Inanna and Rene Belloc both into the black depths of the River Styx, where Blackbeard and Babe Ruth ransacked their anuses and cunt for all Eternity.

Ashurnaspiral touched Marion Ravenwood with healing in his ghostly fingertips, and the young lady was good as new, and she and her beloved Harrison Jones wept with joy and rushed to embrace and kiss with the utmost loving-kindness.

Ashurnasirpal's Ghost hung in the air, encompassing all space and no space, smiled warmly at the lovers. 'At long last,' he breathed, 'my dream has come true.' Then he disappeared, and did not return, but remained cherished in the memory of the couple fucking on the stone floor just now.

The end.


End file.
